Adonis and the Fay
by MaxRide05
Summary: It all began in his second year. Thirteen year old Cedric Diggory had been called Adonis, pretty boy, and even Narcissus. And he still didn't understand why. Written for the True Colors competition on HPFC.
1. 1

**Written for the True Colours competition on HPFC. The prompt shall be revealed at the end of the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own HP.**

**Footnote** **1 - ****Paraphased quote by George Bernard Shaw. **

**To avoid any confusion that I'm sure will stem from this let's just say that this came from the idea that Hogwarts wasn't exactly renowned for giving its (preteen) students The Talk (just imagine Snape's reaction... ****:D ****May write a oneshot about that)  
**

**Adonis and the Fay**

Home.

The one place where he'd finally be able to have some peace just for the Easter hols right?

_Wrong_.

"Cedric, m'boy?" His father's jovial voice rang through the house as the Ministry worker exited the fireplace in his private study.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed nine.

In the living room Cedric started, twisting his reclining form, and moving to shove the book in his shaking hands under the pillow that had been between his back and the stiff armrest. It was a book of Greek myths; his father didn't appreciate him reading such things ('fanatical bedtime stories' he'd called them). Amos Diggory would prefer it if his thirteen year old son read up on the Ministry to scour for future employment opportunities – Cedric was surprised (but still rather pleased) that he hadn't drawn up a list of stuffy, dilapidated tomes as thick as his head for his reading _pleasure_.

Then he caught sight of the enchanted cover (_Quidditch: and Everything a Teenage Wizard Should Know about It,_ by _Gwenog Bevan) _and Cedric's tense muscles softened, threatening to deposit him in a heap onto the wooden floor. He was suddenly very glad that he'd had the foresight to enchant the book's cover after he'd purchased it in Hogsmeade.

"I'm in here, father." Cedric hurriedly swung his legs off the sofa cushion and crossed one ankle over the other as he set his sockclad feet onto the floor. His father, dressed in his Ministry worker uniform, strode in the room at that moment, a closed mouth smile quirking his lips at the sight of his son. The wrinkles around his mouth stretched. Then he saw what he was reading and Amos' smile faded, though the wrinkles remained, seeming even more prominent than before.

Cedric swallowed, bracing himself for another lecture on hardworking men and their occupations. (One clue: _not_ on a broomstick chasing after a golden winged ball, whatever the weather.) What he got instead was a long suffering sigh before his father trod across the room to the crackling fireplace, removing his spectacles from his eyes.

Amos lifted his head and stared silently at the large, nonmagical family portrait hanging above the mantle, the stained, stubby fingers of one hand drumming out a frantic, rhythm-less beat, while the other rubbed at the lens of his spectacles with the folds of his nondescript robes. Then he murmured something unintelligible to Cedric's ears before making his way to the cabinet where the drinks – his drinks, to be more precise – were kept.

Cedric tensed, his narrowing eyes tracking his father's every movement, his every twitch. He noted the slumped posture of his father's rounded, but usually straight, shoulders, though his thoughts lingered on the conservatively dressed, smiling facsimile of his mother that hung above the fireplace.

That portrait was three years old and that was the happiest he could recall seeing Marianna Diggory née Davies. She had less wrinkles in the portrait too.

He wondered when she was coming home. Letters every week weren't enough when he was at Hogwarts and/or she was on one of her trips; he missed her smile, a smile that promised warmth and security - things he'd never received from his father (and never before had he truly sympathised with his neighbour, Luna).

Now, he loved his father – who was perfectly fine in small doses (as in _miniscule_) – but sometimes he didn't even like him. And he was afraid that today would turn into one of those times.

The _chink _of glass against glass broke him from his thoughts. His father was indulging in one of his favourite pastimes: drinking. As if the smoking wasn't enough…

Just thinking of the foul smelling cigar smoke made Cedric's throat itch. He coughed into his fist, forgetting his father's presence.

"Well?" The acerbic baritone made the young boy wince. The _one _thing he was never to do when his father decided to have a _little _drink was draw his attention and Cedric had already done it.

Wonderful.

Just _wonderful_.

It was truly the Dirigible plum on top of a _great_ week.

Great month even.

Cedric lifted his eyes to his father's scowling face as he stood slowly, knees knocking together slightly. "Pardon?"

"Get home alright, did ya?" Amos took a swig of the amber liquid in his tumbler, not even flinching as the liquid burned its way down his throat.

Cedric resisted the urge to say, "Well, I'm here aren't I?" Though he wished he wasn't. (It was no wonder his mother was often elsewhere.) "Y-yes, sir."

Another swig, deeper this time. Cedric took a step backwards. "F-floo not _too_ much trouble?" Said with a slight drawl.

"No." A brief pause. "I can't wait till Luna starts next year, then we can go home together." No more travelling home alone only to be welcomed by an empty house (such as he had been today) because of his parent's erratic work schedules or the unreliability of Wizarding international transport.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. The wavering scowl on his father's face deepened as he turned to pour more alcohol into his tumbler.

Ire stirred in Cedric's stomach like a smouldering fire. "Something wrong with the Lovegoods, father?" His mother had happened to be quite good friends with Luna's late mother before her… passing.

Amos half turned his upper body away from the cabinet and towards Cedric, a thick eyebrow visibly twitching from underneath his straggly, thinning brown locks. Cedric studied the profile of his father's face, watching as the corner of his lip – just visible beneath his scrubby beard – curled ever so slightly. He placed the rim of the tumbler to his lips and drank heartily.

"Oohh nooo, _nothing_." Not even five minutes in and he was already elongating and slurring his words. Not good.

"O…kay then." Cedric took another surreptitious step backwards, book still held precariously in his shaking grasp. Every fibre of his being was screaming at him to get out. He really didn't want to be subject to his father's drunken ramblings about life. Or his embarrassing platitudes. Not again…

His father took a step towards him, stumbling slightly. Another bad sign. Just how did he – a practised drinker – get drunk so fast anyway? That firewhiskey must have been strong.

"_Now_, _now_, m'boy. Not sooo fast." He hiccupped. "How's school? Tell me your studies are going well." A jumbled rush of words.

Swallowing to try and dispel the growing tightness in his throat, Cedric decided not to disappoint him any further than he apparently already had done. "My studies are going well."

"G-_good_, good… Any lucky witch caught your eye?" Cedric suppressed a groan, which only became harder to do with his father's next words. "Any Valentines?"

He rolled his eyes and grunted before he could stop himself.

_Yes! _He wanted to snap, _enough to fill a bloody satchel!_ He still didn't quite understand why. Especially not after the names he'd been called when fellow students, particularly the Weasley Twins, had found out about his newfound popularity with _the ladies._

Those being: Adonis, pretty boy, and even Narcissus (but that last one was in _no way_ his fault – he'd only wanted to understand his newfound popularity for himself. Once again: _not_ his fault he'd been caught staring at his reflection in a spoon. And he would not send himself a Valentine's Day card – let alone five!).

But he didn't say that. He didn't say any of that; no need to add fuel to the flame. (And he could already feel a migraine coming on if the pain behind his eyes was any indicate.)

Yet it was too late for that it seemed as his father seemed to take his eye roll, half suppressed grunt, and consequential silence as bitter dissent. The older man gave a hearty bark of surprised laughter. Cedric swore he could even see tears glinting in his squinty hazel eyes.

"Ohhh, my booyy! Come, come." He gestured to Cedric who remained motionless. "_Come_. I 'ave a lil-_lit_tle thing t-to show to you." Amos reached into his dark, heavy outer coat's inner pockets.

_Please_ don't let it be what he thought it was. Cedric crossed the fingers of his free hand tightly…

And suppressed yet another groan as his father took out _The Photograph. _He didn't know how he was going to survive the migraine that was surely coming on. "Look 'ere, Cedric. This i-is _me_ as a-a boy." Oh he knew. _Oh_ did he know… "Just a few years o-older than you I-I was." _And in Hufflepuff too._ _Oh_, he could just jump from the joy of it all. He dearly hoped his father wasn't going down the same route that he had last time_ The Photograph _had been taken out.

He closed his eyes in dread (he still had 'scars' from the last time), still motionless. That didn't stop his father shoving _The Photograph_ under his nose though. "And wasn't I like you?"

Cedric's eyes snapped open, wider than they had ever been before. _What? _He stared at the youthful face of his father, smiling at him primly from among a group of his peers. There was only one house not accounted for. Slytherin.

"Can you not," his father drawled, "see the similarities between us, my son?" His father's face hadn't been so round in his youth or blotched in colour; his complexion wasn't ruddy like it was now. In fact it looked like it was paler than Cedric's own. His face seemed to be softer than Cedric's; his jaw and cheekbones weren't that sharp in comparison.

And Cedric supposed that if his father's brown hair hadn't been combed, parted, and slicked with oil it could have been the same sort of thick texture as his own, if not quite length…

Yet if he was asked Cedric would have to say he resembled his mother more, though it wasn't significantly so. He had her grey eyes, yes, her smile, and her hair colour (sort of; hers was more red than auburn while his was reddish brown) but that was it.

If he had to say anything at all he would say that he didn't particularly resemble either one of his parents.

He was just... himself.

While he'd been lost within his musings his father had started rambling about something or another… Slightly better than last time, when he'd been home for the summer.

_The stench of his father's breath made Cedric want to be sick. Sadly not an option as he was currently being held around the shoulders in an almost death grip by his aforementioned parent who was on a tirade about some backhanded compliment a pureblood colleague of his had made in passing._

"_Noo, but look. _Look_!" Amos brandished a sepia photograph in front of his eyes, only slurring slightly. "Your father was the best lookin' 'alfblood 'ogwarts ever saw! It was the muggle gene in 'im I tell yeh! There was no inbreeding in 'im. No, Sir!" Only a hiccup ceased his speech as he released his wide eyed son (who deigned to mention that his paternal grandmother had been a Bulstrode - one of the Old pureblood families - before her marriage). _

_Referring to himself in third person… Must it be said? _Not good._ "Your father was a _dish_. D'you 'ear me, boy?" Amos' voice wavered slightly yet on he went. Like a man on a mission. _

_Cedric had had to resist the urge to smack his forehead with his palm many times during his father's rant. He was sure muggles had a word for that._

_Amos eventually winded down but most certainly not in a good way. He was crying now; fat, pitiful tears tracing the creases and contours of his face. "And look at me now!" A sob rose in his throat. It appeared as if the alcohol's hold on him was lessening though his emotions still seemed frazzled and delicate. "Look at what I've become! Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime 'tis wasted on children_**1.**" _He swallowed. "You better not let this 'appen to you, Cedric. A fine lad like you; you will find yourself a nice witch and hold on tight. D'ya 'ear?"_

_He broke off with a sad mumble; "Everyday she's gone I miss your mother. Every day." He repeated those words as he slumped down onto the sofa. He shifted so that he lay on his side and brought his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs as Cedric hesitantly stepped towards him. Cedric reached out and patted his father's shoulder awkwardly._

"…_Every day… Every day…" _

Cedric sucked in a breath, the words of the memory echoing in his head. _You find yourself a nice witch and hold on tight…_

It seemed that beneath all the boasting words and assurances his father really did care for his sense of wellbeing, if not happiness. And that included getting himself a nice witch and not wasting his youth… whatever that meant.

He looked to his father who had now abandoned the tumbler altogether; he was drinking straight out of the bottle, alcohol dribbling down his beard as he sat, slouched on the sofa that Cedric had previously vacated.

"…I…I'll be upstairs." Cedric spoke softly. With a slight nod his father dismissed him, blurry eyes blinking at his feet that were squeezed into the finest boots of dragon leather.

Cedric wasted no time in exiting. He resolutely avoided making eye contact with the enigma that was his reflection in the hallway mirror. And when his long legs took him to the curving staircase he took them two at a time up to his room.

He dived inside, door slamming behind him, and collapsed on his bed, still in his clothes. The pulsing in his head ceased slightly, and after a moment of simply lying there among the bed covers he sighed and got ready for bed.

After going about his nightly ritual of ablutions he sank into the soft expanse of his bed. Nudging away all thoughts of his father downstairs he pondered briefly on his problem: why had his peers started calling him Adonis (among other synonymous but more commonly recognised names)?

He knew someone who he could ask. And she wouldn't lie to him; she was actually notorious for her brazen truth around these parts.

He'd see her tomorrow.


	2. 2

He was going to melt… Or at the very least die of heatstroke.

A light breeze danced across his skin (and it also tussled his hair like his mother had been wont to do; when she was home) but did little to alleviate the warmth of his skin.

Cedric was sitting under the shade of a large tree that stood some feet away from the forest that ran alongside the garden in the back of his house. While he didn't enjoy the coarse bark that was pressing into his back through his T-shirt the tree did provide some great shade. For the most part.

He breathed out through his nose, pressing the bottle of ice cold water in his hand to his forehead. He could feel beads of sweat making their way down his face.

"Ninx." His voice was barely a croak.

He took a deep swig from his bottle and tried again. "Ninx!"

The only Diggory family house-elf _popped _into existence in front of him, wide cobalt eyes catching his gaze before darting away. "Yes, mister Diggory, how may Ninx help?" The slight rippling in the air around the uniform clad creature suggested that his illusion magic was at work, as always when the house-elf left the confines of the house and ventured to a place where he could be seen by muggles. Such as in the garden at that moment. St Ottery Catchpole was after all a mixed village, and the forest was a sort of natural border between the two types of (mostly) human inhabitants.

"C-could you, um… t-take the basket," Cedric swallowed some more water from his bottle, "inside please." He gestured to the empty clothes basket lying just feet in front of him. Before it was a sagging clothesline – hardly sans clothes – held in place by two wonky, peeling green sticks at each side. The window of his father's study gleamed in the cursed sun further behind his (once) young parents' attempt at muggle domesticity.

"Of course, mister Diggory."

"Thank you."

The elf departed with another _pop_, still looking fairly perplexed. Domestic jobs around, and sometimes outside of (with the use of a very powerful illusion charm), the house were his work, so when Cedric had suggested spreading out the washing (oh his mother would have been so proud – even though she was a pureblood) his hung-over father and their only house-elf had been quite bemused.

But that was just his cover. Something he needed to do to get out of the house and wait for her arrival. (Not that he hadn't wanted to get out of the house anyway.)

He hadn't sent word to her but she would come. She always did when he got off Hogwarts on holidays.

He turned so that he partly faced the forest, and he, oh - well, he _prayed _that she would come within the next… five minutes. And he wasn't even particularly religious.

Just then the wind carried the sound of bells to his ears. It was the familiar chimes of the church in Ottery St Catchpole. Though he could count the number of times he'd been in there on one hand and still have fingers to spare, the bells, well, they were comforting. He could remember days like this when he was younger and he'd be lying on the grass in a sort of peaceful haze, listening to the sound of the bells. Every morning – ten o'clock without fail, they'd sound. And he could feel himself slipping…

_Snap!_

The broken twig sounded like a thunderclap in his ears and he bolted upright, shaken from his daze.

Before he could consciously register it his eyes were darting from one tree to another, seeking to reveal to him the reason he'd been robbed of his first peaceful moment since…since… _He didn't even _know_ when!_

And then he saw it.

A flash of green, darting through the trees. Svelte viridian limbs. And some sort of mossy, old fashioned clothing – like a toga...

Then it was gone.

Before he could decide if he'd imagined the being, Luna Lovegood burst out of the trees, not seeming to be in possession of her usual unearthly grace. The forest was her forte; she could navigate it like she was some sort of sprite, one with the wind. Like no one he'd ever seen before - except maybe the groundskeeper, Hagrid.

He, on the other hand had been lucky he hadn't died whenever he'd ventured into either forests, and he'd had about as much grace as an elephant. Flying was his thing.

The opposite of Luna, who had trouble not slipping off sideways once in the air, and taking off properly too.

Luna who looked like she couldn't get enough air into her lungs.

She had a thin, shallow looking cut on her pale face that curved from her nose to her cheekbone. Her orange dress was rumpled and ripped and she had a sandal on one foot and a – was that a muggle converse on the other?

He didn't realise his mouth was open until he felt his breath rattling around his dry mouth. He nearly choked on his water as it made its way down his throat.

"Mars was bright last night; did you see?"

The responses he could give rattled around in his head.

_No._

_I don't know what you're talking about. _(He never had been a fan of astronomy.)

_What _are_ you talking about?_

"Yeah, nice to see you too," Was what he said instead as he rose to greet his long-time friend, twitching lips threatening to bloom into a full-blown smile.

"Oh – I'm sorry. Hello, Cedric, how are you today?" She smiled. He smiled back. Then she asked, "Is that better?" and he laughed.

Anyone else but Luna Lovegood and that would have seemed... rude. Impertinent.

But that wasn't how she meant it. That was just how she was. And he did love that about her.

"Yeah, much. And I don't know what you're talking about… but I do have something to ask you - _two_ things actually now." He took a deep breath as the wind tussled his hair once more. "Please don't tell me you were chasing a nymph before you got here."

Silence.

He glared at the young blonde when a minute passed.

"What?" She peered up at him as she twirled languidly towards him – seeming to have had enough of standing still in the shade of the forest. "You just told me not to tell you."

He took a minute to gather himself, his jaw clenching and unclenching a few times. Then, "They are dangerous. You _know_ that. No – _don't_ tell me how they were the ones who told your father about-about that sighting… of… the thing." He finished lamely with a frown. When he saw her open her mouth again to say something he picked up where he'd left off with a vigour he didn't know he had possessed. "Don't you remember that they were the ones who-who ki- lead you to…" He trailed off, a weight, like a heavy cloak settling around his narrow shoulders. It reminded Cedric of the feel of those dressy, furlined cloaks his father liked to wear to Ministry get-togethers.

Luna cocked her head coolly, her silver gaze piercing him. He resisted the urge to squirm. "I remember - I was there, don't forget, before even you."

It wasn't his fault he'd tripped over the undergrowth. He didn't possess Luna's talent for navigating forests, especially not when it was nearly dusk. It had been a half a minute before he'd been able to get up and find Luna.

Half a minute.

Thirty seconds.

It'd still made a world of difference, when she was nine and he was twelve.

"But the nymph I followed today wasn't one of _them_. She was from a different clan. I could tell by her face; open and honest with wider lips and a higher forehead. Not one of _them_."

A dreadful silence fell between them. Then she spoke softly, "I honestly wouldn't follow after their type again – not after…" Her eyes, so wide and clear turned glassy. He swallowed, unease clenching his stomach, threatening to bring up his meager, hastily eaten breakfast.

The memories wouldn't leave her _(of course not – they _never_ would). _It was the same with him.

But then it wasn't his mother who'd died.

Been killed – manslaughter wasn't it, when you kill someone without meaning to? At least that's what he thought happened. The nymphs disturbing Luna's mother in the process of brewing a potion.

A potion experiment gone wrong.

Part of a children's nursery rhyme came to mind as he recalled that day:

_If you go down to the woods today,  
You're in for a big suprise._

Icy fingers, incongruous with the heat of the sun, trailed down his back. Mrs Lovegood – who'd insisted on him calling her auntie Arielle – would have looked as if she was sleeping if it hadn't been for the flushed skin on the right side of her body turning scaly and a bluish green colour beneath the singeing holes in her robes. It had been where the potion splashed her.

_If you go down to the woods today,  
You'll never believe your eyes._

A violent shudder rippled through him. He had stared in disbelief at first, with Luna not even looking up from her crouched position by her fallen mother's side. Then he heard a sound. It was Luna. "She's dead." And she had looked remarkably calm. Not even crying. And he'd gone to get help.

"And what was the other thing?" He blinked and he wasn't at the clearing by the Lovegoods house but in his garden with Luna.

"Well, that other thing… Last night I didn't notice, um, Mars because – aside from my lack of interest in Astronomy – I was, er, _asleep_. But before that I'd been reading up on Greek myths… it didn't help me with what I wanted to know so I decided to ask you. I-I just wanna know why exactly does everyone keep calling me Adonis?"

"Adonis?" Luna looked as if she were trying out the name on her tongue. "Handsome youth if I remember correctly…"

"Yes," He whispered, leaning forward in anticipation. "And there's also some mention of Narcissus. And the Weasleys, well, the twins got some people starting to call me," His lips twisted along with his stomach, "'pretty boy'."

Luna's eyebrows rose. She tilted her head even further and squinted at him, "I don't see it… Why, oh, why would they call you such things?"

"You mean you don't know?" For the first time in a year, since _that day_, Luna's presence didn't make him feel peaceful. Didn't give him some sort of respite after the attention of his peers at Hogwarts. She was as clueless as he was. He could barely discern that from her expression, and only because they'd known each other for so many years. Longer than he'd been flying on broomsticks.

"No…" Luna drew the word out. "_But_ – I think you should check for signs of Wrackspurt infestations. Let it fester and – it gets serious." Her whisper had taken on an almost _conspiratorial_ tone.

He laughed, the weight lifting off his shoulders ever so slightly.

"Ooh, perhaps I should give you the owl order for a nice shop in Paris; they sell wonderful kits for getting rid of wrackspurts."

**As I said in the previous chap the prompt is as follows:** _'In your story, you must address a certain moment in your character's life, in which at least one of your chosen color's attributes are addressed.'_

**I got the colour blue so I needed to write a fic in which Cedric displays/represents/somehow addresses youth, spirituality, truth, and peace. And I had to use at least one of the prompts.**


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